


A Burden Shared

by AudreyV



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attraction, Bisexual Female Character, Comfort, F/F, Female-Centric, Femslash, Flirting, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intimacy, Late Night Conversations, POV Female Character, Pre-Slash, Sharing, Subtext, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5424122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyV/pseuds/AudreyV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation between Bonnie and Laurel leads to secrets let slip by accident and confidences shared on purpose.  </p><p>Pre-slash.</p><p>*Major spoilers for season 2 through "I Want You To Die." Spoilery summary in author's notes.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Burden Shared

**Author's Note:**

> Post 2x07, in a world where Philip didn't go to Oliver's, so the stake-out gang all headed home. After her fight with Annalise, Bonnie decided to sit on the porch steps and try to sober up. She's been there for a while when Laurel arrives, still pissed about the stakeout fiasco. 
> 
> This is my attempt at PG rated. I thought about writing this as a friendship-only fic, but it's way too fun to let these two flirt with each other. In a world rife with murder, deceit, betrayal and rampant bisexuality, female bonding can be complicated. 
> 
>  
> 
> Depending on how the muse strikes, this may get another less-PG rated chapter.
> 
> Feedback and constructive crit is always appreciated. :)

_"She had not known the weight until she felt the freedom."  
\- The Scarlet Letter_

\---

"Hey, Wallflower."

Laurel Castillo was deep in thought, but the use of her old pejorative nickname startled her out of her musings as she closed the gate behind her. It was close to midnight and the house was dark, but the porch light illuminated Bonnie Winterbottom as she sat on the steps. 

Bonnie’s short hair was messy and fell into her eyes. Her simple skirt and top were both rumpled and the lipstick she'd applied that morning had long ago been wiped or worn away. Laurel was surprised at how pretty Bonnie managed to look, even with red eyes and cheeks that were streaked with the ghosts of her mascara. 

“Pretty" was not in the top ten words she'd usually pick to describe the blonde. "Hardass" for sure. "Scary." "Smart." "Intimidating." Maybe even “friend,” although she wouldn’t have used that one within Bonnie’s earshot, for fear of being pointedly corrected. “Pretty” was for things that were delicate, like orchids and antique lace, and Laurel was pretty sure Bonnie would see it as an insult. Still, it was the most undone Laurel had ever seen Bonnie, even counting their occasional trips to the bar, and it turned out that undone looked good on her. 

"Hey." It came out quieter and more hesitant than Laurel intended. "What are you doing out here?"

"I'm out here so I'm not in there." 

Laurel followed Bonnie's eyes to the stained glass door and heard the unspoken "with her" that would have completed the sentence.  “She’s home?”

"Oh, she is definitely home. I would not go in there, if I were you."

As Bonnie shook her head Laurel thought she smelled alcohol, which explained the associate's disarray and probably also her mood. "Are you drunk?"

"No. I was drunk an hour ago. I was aiming for 'numb' but I didn't get there before she got home from her little date."

“Date?"

Bonnie laughed, shaking her head again. "You're an observant girl, Laurel. Please tell me you’ve figured it out."

"Is she seeing Nate again?"

“Probably, but that's not who she was with tonight. She came home and was practically skipping, big stupid grin. No man puts a smile on her face like that."

“Then… Eve Rothlow.”

“Bingo. Knew you were smart. There’s a reason why you’ve always been my favorite.”

Laurel really liked this messy, sweet, friendly version of Bonnie, even though she doubted the veracity of that declaration. 

“So is Annalise into women, or just that particular woman?”

“Why?” Bonnie cocked her head to the side and squinted at her. “You throwing your hat in the ring?”

“No! Of course not.”

"Oh, drop the offended act, miss thing. As if you haven't spent time on that side of the street."

Laurel had, of course, like she figured most girls of her generation and liberal education had, but it wasn't something she wanted to be common knowledge. It was particularly discomfiting to her that Bonnie knew. She didn’t want to give her maybe-almost-friend any reason to judge or ditch her. “I told Frank not to tell you.”

“He didn’t. You did. Just now." Mischievous eyes sparkled up at her. “But don’t worry. I’d guessed already.”

Laurel sighed and sat heavily on the step next to Bonnie. "I can't believe I fell for that trick."

“Don’t feel bad. I'm hard to resist." 

If Laurel didn't know better, she might have thought Bonnie was flirting with her. (She didn't mind the idea so much as it scared the hell out of her.)

"So what happened? With AK?"

Bonnie rolled her eyes. “If you've done it, I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you."

“No, I mean with you. Unless I've misread your mood, you don't seem like you're reveling in post-coital bliss."

Laurel felt Bonnie tense up beside her and hoped she hadn’t triggered a land mine that would explode in her face. She held her breath as she waited for a reply. 

“I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay." No land mine. Good. 

They sat in silence for a few moments before Bonnie spoke. "I should probably get a cab home.“

"Isn't that your car over there?"

"Yep. I drove here. That was before I drank most of a bottle of Annalise's fanciest vodka." Bonnie tilted her head to regard the car rather seriously. "I didn't think it through."

"That's unlike you."

"How would you know?"

"Easy, tiger. I'm not criticizing. Your talent for forethought is something I admire."

"Jokes on you," Bonnie replied with a bitter laugh. "There's nothing admirable about me."

"I'd say that's not true and start listing the things I admire about you, but I'm not sure if you want me to argue or agree with you." Laurel suspected that the other woman wasn’t interested in being cheered up, but she made a mental list of about a half dozen qualities she could point out if Bonnie let her. 

"Clever girl,” the blonde conceded and that praise shouldn’t have been enough to make Laurel flush but she did. “So why are you here?”

"I thought maybe I left my torts notes earlier today.”

“And so you came back in the middle of the night, when probably no one would be here to let you in to get them?” A thought dawned on Bonnie and she smiled triumphantly. “Frank copied his key for you.”

“For emergencies.”

“Or secret rendezvous? ‘Shy, bookish law student surprised by handsome bearded cat burglar’?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Laurel retorted, keeping her voice as even as possible. Heat rose to her cheeks, but she held the blonde’s gaze stubbornly.

“Mmm, I almost believe you. Unfortunately for you, Frank couldn’t resist bragging about that one.” 

The blush multiplied, setting Laurel’s chest, neck and entire face on fire, as she remembered that particular scenario. It ended with Frank going down on her as she sat at Bonnie’s perfectly organized desk. Blushing was an autonomic response and there’s no way Bonnie could think less of her for something she couldn’t control. (She could, of course, and probably did, Laurel decided.)

“I thought you and Frank had a fight club and didn’t talk about stuff like that.”

“That’s not how the fight club works. Frank and I don’t snitch on each other. If you want to make sure he doesn’t tell me about the naughty things he does with you, you need to make a fight club of your own. A Frank-and-Laurel-don’t-tell-Bonnie-about-their-sex-lives fight club.” Bonnie stared hard at Laurel, whose gaze was focused out in the darkness. “Why are you really here?”

“I told you, my torts notes—“

“Overachiever and bonafide smarty pants Laurel Castillo misplacing her notes? I don’t buy it.”

Laurel crossed her arms in front of her and wondered why she hadn’t thought of a better excuse. She searched for one before deciding the truth couldn’t make her feel any worse than she already did. “We tried to lure Philip out so we could get his DNA, but it didn’t work.”

“Whose stupid idea was that? Because I know you know better.”

“Everybody else. They wouldn’t listen to me, so I called Annalise to have her shut it down.” Laurel sighed. “Frank’s being an asshole. He’s pissed about me ruining his stakeout.”

“Frank needs to keep his law and order fantasies confined to the bedroom from here on out. Bee tee dubs, I know the two of you had sex in my office.”

“‘Bee tee dubs’? Who are you and what have you done with Bonnie Winterbottom?” Laurel joked, but the lightness their conversation had taken on had vanished and Bonnie was slumped over a bit, looking at her feet as if she might either vomit or cry. Laurel was hoping for the former. 

“She’s dead.” Bonnie shrugged. “But maybe just on in the inside.”

“I don't buy that for a second. If you were, you wouldn’t be sitting here with your broken heart in your hands, trying to figure out how to put it back together.”

“That’s poetic. I’m actually sitting here waiting to be sober enough to find a cab.” Bonnie seemed to be pulling herself together. “If Annalise shut down the covert op, then why are you here?”

“I was too mad to sleep. Frank got mean about the whole thing. He called me a MAP.”

“Frank’s an idiot who knows you’re out of his league. What’s a MAP?”

“Why does it matter that we grew up differently? He didn’t choose his family and I definitely didn’t choose mine.”

“None of us do. So you were mad about Frank being a dick and he called you a MAP, which is probably bad but I have no idea—”

“Mexican American Princess. My family is Cuban and I grew up in Florida.”

“For Christmas, you should get him an atlas so he can educate himself on the finer points of the geography of Latin America.”

“Are you trying to cheer me up?” Laurel glared half-heartedly at Bonnie. 

“No, I’m really serious about the atlas thing.” The blonde’s deadpan broke into a small smile that Laurel instinctively returned. “I’m still not sure why you’re here.”

“Conner and Michaela are mad at me for tattling to Annalise, Wes is being shady, it would have been weird to call Asher and ask him to hang out, and I can’t go to a bar and make small talk with strangers.”

"Worried you'll get drunk and blab?"

“You think I kiss and tell?”

“I guess we’ll see. So if it’s not that, then what?”

“I worry that someone will be able to look at me and see all my secrets."

"So you come to the house of the one person in the world who can do exactly that."

Laurel shrugged. “I guess sometimes it’s a relief to have someone really see you, as you are, and all the bad things you’ve done. But that might just be me.”

“No. It’s everybody,” Bonnie pronounced after staring for a beat too long. “Why didn’t you call me? I know we’re not best friends, but I would have listened. And told you you were right.”

“I did. You didn’t pick up.”

“Oh.” The wheels in Bonnie’s head slowly turned. “You were hoping I’d still be here.” 

“To be honest, I’m not even sure you have an apartment of your own. For the first two months I worked here I thought you slept in a secret room in the basement or something. You figured me out, though. Do you maybe want to get out of here, maybe grab a beer?” Laurel asked, happy when her offer was rewarded with a weak smile.

“I’m pretty shit company tonight."

"I think you're doing alright."  Another quirk of the corner of Bonnie’s lips and Laurel's breath caught in her chest. The feeling made her nervous so she quickly added, “It's cool if you don't feel like going out.  I could just drive you home.”

"It's out of your way."

"The walk from your place back to mine will give me time to think."

"And then when you get murdered and dropped in a ditch, Frank will kill me."

“Ha.“

"Hey, I know better than to fuck with a guy with that kind of body count--"

"What?" 

Bonnie stared at Laurel, hoping for a sign that she was joking, or that the question meant something different than it seemed to. "He hasn't told you?"

"What is there to tell me?"

"Nothing."

“Bonnie. I’m not an idiot.”

“No,” Bonnie agreed, struggling to come up with the right words to erase her misstep. She stood and paced the walk for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. Like Laurel moments before, she decided to stick with the truth. “Frank solves problems."

"By killing people?"

"Sometimes. I try not to know the details." She was slightly unnerved by how matter-of-fact Laurel seemed to be. "You're too calm about this."

"I helped murder a man, burn his body, dismember it and toss it in the trash.“

"Sam brought that on himself." The expression that appeared on Bonnie’s face was fleeting, but it made Laurel suspect her reasoning had nothing to do with Lila's murder. She filed away the thought as a topic for another time. (The next time that she and a sad, drunk Bonnie Winterbottom discussed the various crimes their friends, lovers and associates had committed? As if such a thing would happen twice.) 

"Has Frank... anyone who hasn't deserved it?"

"Not that I know of. Drug dealers, murderers, rapists. Annalise wouldn't keep him around if he was killing pregnant women and kids left and right." A pause. “Are you actually this calm or are you freaking out on the inside?“

“Calm, I guess. I’m good at not freaking out. I grew up... My dad isn't a good guy."

Bonnie nodded gravely and drifted back to where Laurel was still sitting on the porch stairs. She settled herself on the step next to the brunette. “Want to talk about it?"

“No,” Laurel replied automatically, but Bonnie’s face was kind, and suddenly she thought that it might not be such a bad idea. “Yes. Kind of.”

“I’m listening. Whatever we talk about here won’t be repeated. We can have our own fight club,” the associate quipped with a wry smile. 

It might have been the late hour, or the stress of the failed stakeout, or the shock of Bonnie’s hand on her back, rubbing a slow, reassuring circle, but Laurel opened her mouth and out came the story of her youth, her family’s money, her father’s work and how hard she’d struggled to get away from the casual criminality of it all. She’d looped around and skipped across the dark part of the story several times before she glanced up to check in with the other woman.

Bonnie had sobered up and was listening intently. Laurel searched her face for any trace of judgement or horror. (The only other time she’d attempted to tell this story was to a college roommate she felt particularly close to. She’d barely touched on her history before realizing the other woman was staring at her, full of shock and pity. Laurel learned to guard the realities that would make other people look at her differently.) 

There was none of that in Bonnie’s expression or her posture, only a calm, neutral awareness. Not for the first time, Laurel wondered what Bonnie’s story was. Frank had once said something about Bonnie’s family being “totally fucked,” which Laurel could relate to, but when she’d pressed her paramour for details he’d told her it was none of her god damn business. Noting the intensity of his reaction, Laurel had dropped it. She knew that when people built walls around themselves, there was usually a reason. 

Regardless of the blonde’s complicated history, or whether or not Laurel would ever be gifted with the details of it, it was a relief to be able to talk so freely, without worrying about being judged. After a deep breath, she pressed forward. 

"When I was twelve I went to the kitchen for a drink in the middle of the night. I heard something in the basement. I thought maybe someone was breaking in, because I knew people wanted what we had." Having reached the point of no return, Laurel looked off into the darkness and let the words spill out. ”I opened the door as quietly as I could and crept down the stairs. My father was down there, with two of his friends, and there was a man..." Her voice trailed off as she prepared herself for what came next. 

Bonnie put a reassuring hand on Laurel's knee. The younger woman covered it with one of her own and they sat in silence for a few moments before she continued. 

"The man was on his knees. His face was bloody. He'd cheated them, or stolen something, and wouldn't tell them what they wanted to know.” Her face felt hot again, and wet. She glanced up at Bonnie and saw fresh tears streaking her face, but the same kind expression as before. “They broke all of his fingers and cut off his ear. He told them everything then. And then my dad shot him in the head."

"Jesus.” 

"I just watched. I wasn't scared or disgusted or... People shouldn't be able to watch someone die and feel nothing, you know?"

“Maybe. But they do. Did your dad ever know you saw what happened that night?"

"I don't know. I kept pushing about it, saying things that would make him suspect. But he wasn't the most attentive parent. I was a girl, he knew I wouldn't be his legacy. No point in putting in the effort to make me into a monster." A short laugh. "Ironically, it seems like it wouldn't have taken much. I was already most of the way there."

"You look pretty human to me.” Bonnie seemed about to continue, but the words caught in her throat. 

Laurel glared at the ground and braced herself, expecting criticism or a hollow platitude. She’d been stupid to say so much. She told herself this would be a lesson for next time, but then Bonnie’s hands were on her face, turning her towards her before speaking quietly. 

“I am so sorry that happened to you, Laurel.” One of Bonnie’s thumbs wiped a tear from Laurel’s cheek. She smiled weakly. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” 

“Thanks for caring enough to listen.” Laurel reached out, mirroring Bonnie’s gesture and smudging away one of the barely-there trails of mascara on the blonde’s face. 

It should have felt inappropriate, but it didn’t, and when she smoothed Bonnie’s hair gently, the associate tilted her head into the touch. 

The relief of having let go of the secret made Laurel feel exhausted and weightless. Her body was still coursing with leftover adrenaline, but she wasn’t sure biology could fully explain the rapid beating of her heart. Bonnie’s hands were warm on the sides of her face, and Laurel imagined what would happen if those hands were pulling her close instead of merely holding her steady. She realized she was staring at the blonde’s lips and quickly directed her gaze upward.

Bonnie’s expression had changed, the concern of several moments ago replaced by a careful, searching look. Laurel felt her starting to pull away before she actually did. Their hands dropped, although neither made any motion to move from the steps. 

“I’m sorry, I—“

“I shouldn’t have—“ 

They both stopped. Instead of waiting for the admonishment she figured was coming, Laurel rushed to repair the damage she’d just inflicted. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you like—“

“Laurel.” The tone was reassuring. “Don’t worry about that. I’m just glad you told me. Secrets like that have a way of tearing a person apart from the inside.” Bonnie’s brow crinkled and she pressed her lips together into a tight line, considering her words carefully. “It was a very intimate thing you just shared with me, and I don’t want to… you’re vulnerable right now.”

“You drank a bottle of Annalise’s good stuff, and you think I’m the vulnerable one?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Bonnie replied, regarding Laurel intently. “I’m sorry I let that slip about Frank. It was his business to tell you or not." 

“Some part of me knew already."

"How?"

“Gut feeling. Its a relief to know my instincts weren’t wrong.” Laurel stood and held out her hand. “Keys.” 

"No."

"Come on. I want to.”

“I don’t want to drag you down with me.“ Bonnie stood up, bobbling side to side a few times in a way that made it clear that even if her mind was sharp, the alcohol was still having an effect on her motor skills. 

“Careful.” Laurel reached out to steady her, one hand on the curve of her waist and the other on her hip. She felt Bonnie flinch, but before she could pull away, the other woman wobbled more drastically and grabbed for Laurel’s shoulder to stay standing They stood that way, neither speaking, as Bonnie regained her balance and Laurel rejected the impulse to kiss her as a very, very bad idea. “Just let me drive you home."

"No," came the response, but quieter than before, and less emphatic. Laurel sighed and decided to take more definitive action, taking a step forward and slipping a hand into the pocket of Bonnie’s sweater.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Laurel’s searching fingers found their prize, fishing it out it with a flourish. 

“The one with the keys makes the rules, and I’m driving your drunk ass home, Miss Winterbottom,” she declared, shaking the keys at Bonnie as she tugged her toward the driveway. “So either get in the car or I’ll put you in it.”

"Fine. But I'm paying for your cab home. Or to Frank's. Whatever."

"Just home. He’s probably still pissed about tonight, plus I have to figure out what I'm going to say to him. If anything."

“Could you just go on like you didn't know?" Bonnie asked, buckling herself into the passenger seat while Laurel acquainted herself with the controls of the spotless Prius.

"Are you and Annalise going to talk about the fight you had, or will you go into work tomorrow morning and act like nothing's changed?"

"I... I don't think I can this time."

Instead of asking why or prodding for more information, Laurel said nothing and started the car. They were several blocks away from the Keating house when Bonnie broke the silence, her voice low and flat. 

“Pull over.”

Laurel did as instructed without hesitation, turning onto a side street and killing the engine. She watched Bonnie, whose face looked even paler under the blue-tinged glow of the street lamp.

“My father wasn’t a good guy either.” She forced herself to look at Laurel before continuing. “I don’t think he ever killed anyone, but he did terrible things. To me.”

Before her brain had entirely grasped the meaning of the words, Laurel was reaching out to reassure the blonde, but when she realized the touch might not be welcome, she caught herself. Instead she turned her hand palm up and offered it with a slight shrug. “In case you feel like it,” she mumbled. 

Bonnie’s forehead wrinkled as her eyes moved from the outstretched hand to Laurel’s face. She nodded and interlaced their fingers, letting both their hands drop to rest on her knee. She opened her mouth to continue several times, struggling to find the words before finally giving up. Her shoulders crumpled and she shook her head. 

“I can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.” Laurel did her best to sound reassuring. Bonnie’s fingers gripped hers tightly as she leaned her head against the passenger side window and sobbed. 

“You were so brave,” Bonnie stammered, regaining control even as the tears continued to run down her face, collecting under her quivering chin. “I wanted to be brave enough to tell you.”

“You were. You told me, Bonnie. You don’t have to say another word if you don’t want to.” Laurel squeezed her hand. “Would it be okay if I hugged you?” 

She nodded. Before Laurel could even start to move toward her, the blonde’s face was pressed against her shoulder. Laurel knew Bonnie was petite, but she was still shocked at how delicate the tough-as-nails woman felt in her arms.

They sat there in silence for some time before Bonnie spoke. “I was desperate and helpless when Annalise came into my life. If it weren’t for her, I’d be dead. And I love her for what she did for me, but I hate her too.”

"Why do you hate her?"

"Because she's the only one who's seen the person I used to be. She’s the one person who knows everything, all the details of… And I found out tonight that she used what she knew to convince Asher not to testify."

“So you came to the house to have it out with her."

"I came to the house to... I don't know. I wasn't sure what was going to happen when she walked through the door." Bonnie pinched the bridge of her nose. "I said everything I could that would hurt her. I wanted to break her. I told her that she doesn't know how to love anyone."

"What did she say to that?"

"She said she loved me."

Laurel considered her reply, idly stroking Bonnie’s hair as she did so. “I’m not sure what love is like inside of her head, but if there is anyone in this world that she loves, it's you."

Bonnie didn't respond, but she didn't argue either, which Laurel decided was a good sign. Instead, she sat up and reached for the glove compartment. She pulled out a package of tissues and blew her nose. 

“You ready to resume our journey?” Laurel asked.

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll need this to park, probably, but until then,” she said, offering her hand again. Bonnie took it, sandwiching it between both of hers with a hiccup and a sigh. 

“Frank really cares about you,” she said quietly a few minutes later. 

"He told you that?"

“It’s what he hasn’t told me. No exaggerated tales of hooking up with other women. Occasionally he’ll try to pretend that whatever story he’s telling me is about some other girl, but he’s never good enough to keep up the ruse. He’s way into you.”

“Yeah. I know. Same way Asher is way into you.” Laurel felt Bonnie tense up at the mention of her lover’s name. “Ah. I wondered if things were back on the rocks.”

“They never really got off the rocks. He wasn’t cheating after all, but…”

“Emily Sinclair.”

“Right. But I couldn’t figure out why he would help her. After Annalise ruined her witch hunt, Sinclair gave me a file. She was blackmailing him.” Bonnie swallowed hard, her voice taking on an edge as she continued. “A girl was gang raped at one of Asher’s parties. Sinclair knew that he’d gotten his dad to cover it up.”

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, Bon.”

“He saw them take her upstairs and he didn’t do anything. I thought he was a good guy.” She laughed sharply. “That night, the first time I went to his place, he told me he didn’t think it was a good idea that we… he thought I was too drunk to know what I was doing. Asked me if I was upset, if I wanted to talk about it.”

“So Doucheface had a hot woman who wanted to fuck him, which probably never happens, and he was concerned enough about your ability to consent that he turned you down?”

“Tried to. I’m persistent.”

“I bet. I always wondered how the two of you started. He didn’t seem like your type.”

This time when Bonnie laughed it felt real. “He wasn’t. It was a fluke. The night Sam died, Annalise and I... we argued, she fired me— and when I left the house everything hurt. I went to a bar, decided to pick up a stranger, try to feel something. But then he was kissing me in the lobby of his hotel and his hands were everywhere. It felt like it might go off the rails at any second, so I got the hell out of there. Went to Asher's. Where I knew I could control the situation." 

"Why keep seeing him, though?"

"He was sweet. He treated me better than almost anyone ever has. And believe it or not, the sex was worth it. He was exceptionally talented with his mouth”

Laurel blushed at the thought. ”Like, the best you've ever had?"

"No, but he was at a distinct disadvantage.” 

Laurel flashed on their conversation on the porch as she put the pieces together. “You could tell I sleep with women because you do too.” 

“I could tell you sleep with women because I heard you hitting on Michaela the other day.” Bonnie raised her eyebrows at Laurel’s suddenly panicked expression. “‘She’s mine’? I was ten feet away on the other side of an open door. You know how sound carries in that house.”

Laurel decided to be embarrassed later and kept her focus. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“I didn’t know you’d asked one.”

“Are you a lesbian?”

“I thought you millennials were supposed to be post-label. I wouldn’t say that I’m a lesbian.”

“But you do sleep with women.”

“Yes.”

“And the best sex you've ever had was with a woman."

"Yes. One I was in love with.”

"Did she love you?"

“Maybe. She knew me, well enough to know exactly how to touch me, what to say, how to behave. Turn left here.“ Bonnie nodded to a side street. "It only happened once, and we’ve never talked about it. She might not even remember.”

“I’m sure she does. It’s just complicated considering—“

“Considering what?”

Laurel cursed herself for letting on that she’d put the pieces together. “Considering you work for her.” She expected Bonnie to be angry or to argue with her, but all she did was shake her head, her gaze fixed on her lap. 

“I’m that obvious?”

“No. I’m that smart.” When Bonnie looked up at her, Laurel smiled broadly. “I hope it goes without saying, but everything you’ve said, everything, is between us. And for my sake, I hope you were serious about that fight club.”

“I was.”

“Even though you and Frank have your fight club?”

“It’s a non-exclusive fight club. I can belong to multiple fight clubs. You dating Frank means it’s more complicated, but I am pretty great at compartmentalizing. As I suspect you are. Park there,” Bonnie instructed, pulling her hands away from Laurel’s to gesture at a space in front of a chrome and glass high rise. “It's that building."

"Nice."

"It is." Bonnie paused, seeming to debate something in her head before continuing. "Want to see it?"

"Your place?"

"Sure."

"It's late."

"I know." Bonnie got out of the car and Laurel followed, locking the door and coming over to the curb side. They stood there for a moment, Laurel looking hard at Bonnie as if she were a complicated case that could be figured out, if only she looked hard enough.

“Do you want to sleep with me?” Laurel asked without a hint of shyness.

Bonnie’s eyes widened and she felt herself blushing, although she hoped the glow from the street lamps was too dim for Laurel to note the redness of her cheeks. “Doesn’t matter if I do or not. You’re my friend’s girlfriend. Crossing that line with you would definitely violate the bro code.”

“Frank hasn’t told you his philosophy on cheating? It’s almost as well thought out as tonight’s plan was.”

“Do I want to know?”

Laurel stood up very straight and tugged at the bottom of an imaginary vest. “‘Laurel, it ain’t cheating if it’s only women. So the opportunity arises, you enjoy the hell outta that pussy, then you come tell me all about it.’” 

“That sounds like classic Frank. But I can also imagine his face when the story starts with, ‘So Bonnie does this thing with her tongue…’” 

The laugh they shared cut the tension, although Bonnie’s quip had rushed through Laurel’s body and sparked a fire deep in her gut. She was struggling to keep her questions about what “this thing” might be to herself when the blonde took her hand. 

"I can call you a cab right now. Or in 10 minutes. Or tomorrow morning. It's up to you."

"Okay." Laurel was uncharacteristically nervous as they stood there on the sidewalk, with Bonnie holding her hand as if it were something delicate. "I mean, I'll come up and see it. I'm not sure--"

“You can stay in the guest room. It’s just that I’ve had the worst day and this… I like you and I don’t want to be alone right now. You feel safe.”

The enormity of the statement wasn’t lost on Laurel, who nodded. “And if I don’t want to stay in the guest room?”

“You can sleep in my bed with me. But nothing happens tonight.”

“You seem awfully sure that I want to have sex with you.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t.” Bonnie waited for an answer, but although Laurel looked her straight in the eye, she said nothing. “Exactly. We’re emotionally raw right now, and we both use sex to let off steam. Even letting you in my apartment is probably a bad idea, because I do want you. But not tonight, because I’m not going to act on the attraction I have to you without giving you time to figure out if you really want this, and time to talk to Frank to make 100% sure that he’s okay with it.” Bonnie smiled, but her eyes were sad. “My bet is what you’re feeling will be gone by daylight.” 

“And if it isn’t?”

“We’ll see. But for tonight, do you think we can be trusted?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s go up.”

“I have one condition. Two actually.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“We can’t pretend that none of this ever happened.”

“Agreed. And?”

Laurel smiled broadly and followed Bonnie toward the door. “I’m the outside spoon.”


End file.
